The Scarlet Way of the Swords
by Euric Rye Donovan
Summary: One-Shot/AU: As a child, she had always thought he was partly responsible for her fate, and so, whenever the opportunity presented itself, she had often expressed how much she disliked him. In return, he merely rolled his eyes before smiling at her. [Occurs in the same universe as Of Mysteries and Thievery]


**Disclaimer:** All characters from Meitantei/Detective Conan and Magic Kaito are the intellectual properties of sir Gosho Aoyama. The only things I do own right now are a bunch of lectures that are driving me crazy!

**Author's Notes: **I am popping here to apologise for my very long absence. I have been dealing with another round of illness and exams. I cannot express how saddened I am at being unable to write anything within the past two months or so.

In light of this matter, I have decided to finally flesh out my idea for Akako within the scientific-based nature of **_Of Mysteries and_ _Thievery_**.

As this is my first go at writing a one-shot, I hope you could forgive my poor attempt at writing a self-contained narrative. If you do wish for me to expand on this thread of thought, I would be continuing it under **OMAT**.

As always, I hope you guys get to enjoy it as much as I had inscribing it. It's nice to have free reign over a character's background once in a while...

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><p><strong>Vocabulary:<strong>

Ganpishi - form of paper in Ancient Japan; traditionally used for books

Oden - Japanese version of hotpot

tono/dono - equivalent to m'lord

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><p><strong>PS: <strong> Reagan, I know you've already forgiven me for **unintentionally **referring to you as a male (if the fact you have finished that cookie dough ice cream was any indication). However, I would also like to take the opportunity to apologise to you in this manner. I know I haven't written that one-shot you had been bugging me but I hope that for now, this would suffice.

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><p><strong>Word count: <strong>1, 365

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><p>The Scarlet Way of the Swords<p>

Red child.

She had once scoffed at the irony of it all. Out of the endless permutations of uncreative names made available to her parents, they just had to choose the one containing that hue in it.

Unlike her family, she had been unable find any trace of honour in an identifier intimately intertwined with such a colour. In fact, she had detested the association with all her being. Surely, there was no pride in knowing her name was a painful reminder—at least back then—of the indelible mark that had been hovering above their entire clan for centuries; a pact sealed in blood which had predestined every Koizumi into life-long servitude.

Cradling the delicate object in her hand as one would a lifeline, she couldn't help but shake her head ruefully for the umpteenth time ever since she had discovered the truth behind her ancestor, Koizumi Mamoru, some five odd years ago.

Sure, being saved by a feudal lord back during the Sengoku Jidai definitely merited a show of gratitude on his part. That, she couldn't argue with. Pledging allegiance to the said lord's house after his life had been spared from a premature death was also a non-issue for her. What had irked her though, was why he, a well-renowned sensei of Hiiro no Battoujutsu, had decided to shirk off his noble upbringing to become nothing more than a bodyguard.

It made no sense, whatsoever. What could her ancestor have benefitted from binding himself to servanthood? What could this lord's household have offered him that would've made him cast aside all logic? Had there been anything more to her ancestor's decision apart from a case of upholding some esoteric form of honour?

For almost a year, she had been plagued by such questions; often spacing out during the times she was supposed to be acting as her person's crimson shadow. It had even reached a point where he had been _able_ to sneak out of her ever vigilant gaze on two or three occasions to wreak some harmless havoc on some other part of the school.

Just when she thought she was never going to hear the end it from her father for neglecting her duties, the answers she sought after mercifully came in the form of a book which she had stumbled upon while helping her mother unpack their Christmas decorations from the attic four winters ago.

Her curiosity had been quickly piqued by its appearance. It looked quite fragile—yellowed sheaves of _Ganpishi_ bound by weather-beaten leather—and for a moment, she had been hesitant to even take a peek of its contents for fear of it crumbling under her touch.

Before a moment of deliberation had gone by, however, her inquisitiveness had won over. With the same deftness as she would draw out her katana or kodachi, she pried open this memento from an age long past.

A sigh of relief had escaped her lips once she realise this had been a personal journal of her ancestor and she only found herself slightly guilty of the fact that she was invading someone else's privacy. With Christmas decors lying on the floor soon forgotten, she began to devour page upon page of the man's most secret thoughts.

For a specimen of the male persuasion, Mamoru had been quite a legible writer, she had once noted with a hint of pride. It was certainly better than the impeccable imitation of a chicken's scrawl her assignment was able to reproduce. And though his writings had been succinct, there were hints of an incredible sense of humour peeking through the seamless flow of text every so often.

Thoroughly amused by the man's account of his lord's attempt at preparing _Oden_ to prove his cooking expertise to an otherwise doubtful wife, the girl had almost forgotten the purpose behind her actions had she not reach a particular entry.

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><p><em>My heart and my mind had finally come to a consensus after much deliberation: I have hopelessly fallen for the sole daughter of Kuroba-dono, beyond any shadow of a doubt. <em>

_To be explicitly informed of her reciprocations, however, had left me in a spell of insurmountable bliss which I am still under even as I write._

_However, the logical part of my being implores of me to reassess my affections and forget my intentions of asking for her hand in marriage. After all, she was born out of wedlock; something that is still considered to be dreadful in this day and age._

_It is for this reason that I curse my upbringing, my noble blood and the expectations society asks of me to fulfil. It is for this reason that I see myself so unfit of the delicate heart she willingly offered for me to take._

_But who am I fooling? _

_Kami-sama, forgive my outright selfishness, but I cannot foresee myself spending the rest of my life beside any other woman apart from her. And if I deny these feelings I harbour, I might as well deny my humanity. _

_For how can a man reject such emotions? How can any human being ignore the yearning and devotion one's own heart wants to impart to another soul with each of its beating? Is this not what sets us apart from mindless beasts?_

_Thus, I am tempering my resolution and courage tonight for in the morrow, I will approach tono. In an act of penance and atonement for my shameful thoughts against her, however, I would willingly cast aside my nobility and don on the mantle of a lowly servant just to be deserving of the woman I love._

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><p><em>Love.<em>

That was the reason behind it all.

When the girl had first read through it, she had wanted to scream her lungs out at how idiotic her ancestor had been. All of those hours she had poured into training—cuts, bruises and welts—and all those times she had been called a witch by the boy she was bound to protect had been due to a romantic fool who wanted nothing more than to redeem himself.

For a period of time, she had decided to ignore the journal altogether, feeling betrayed by her own kin. And though there had always been this nagging impulse to read more of Mamoru's thoughts, she managed to stave it off by reminding herself of how her family would be always viewed as retainers of _his _clan.

As a child, she had always thought _he_ was partly responsible for her fate, and so, whenever the opportunity presented itself, she had often expressed how much she disliked him. In return, he merely rolled his eyes before smiling at her.

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><p><em>Oi, Akako, I thought you would've realised it by now. A surname doesn't and shouldn't dictate who you are. I mean, you haven't seen me boss you around, have you?<em>

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><p>Those were the very words the dark-haired boy had spoken while simultaneously flashing her that goofy grin of his after she had found out the truth. Only then did she realise how he had always viewed her as her own person. He had always seen her as Akako; never a Koizumi and never a servant.<p>

It was during this time when she began to develop feelings for him that she finally understood her ancestor's decision and just exactly what stupidity love can drive someone to do.

Because in the end, Akako had accepted she would never be his.

His guarded heart had already belonged to someone else, even if the dense oaf still needed to realise this glaring fact himself. And she knew deep down, she couldn't deny either of them happiness; not when they had both lost so much already. So when all the options came down to hurting someone, she chose herself. She chose to meld into the background as she had always done; allowing that sapling between black and blue to grow and flourish.

For what it's worth, she was still his living shadow. She would always be his protector and his friend. And no one, not even the boy she loved can deny that privilege from her.

That, in itself, was enough of a consolation.


End file.
